


Love in a Family Dose

by Fledglinger, thewalrus_said



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Birdcage, Disguise, Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang, Drag Queens, False British Conservativism, M/M, Misunderstandings, Queerphobia, Sincere American Conservativism, This fic is not kind to conservatives, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29031504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fledglinger/pseuds/Fledglinger, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewalrus_said/pseuds/thewalrus_said
Summary: Crowley thumped his head against the door and thought a quick, sarcastic prayer at a God who had never, not once, had his back. “Aziraphale,” he said, trying for patience. “Open this door.”“Go away!” his husband shrieked. “You can’t see me like this!”“I’ve seen you every way imaginable,” Crowley said, trying the knob again. “Whatever state you’re in can’t be much worse. Newt! Get this door open!”“Sorry, Miss Azi,” he heard their housekeeper mumble, and then something heavy was moved away from the door and it swung open to reveal Newt, pale face flushed and pale hair disheveled. Crowley pushed past him into the room as Aziraphale shrieked again and disappeared behind his dressing screen.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling/Adam Young
Comments: 56
Kudos: 142
Collections: Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang





	Love in a Family Dose

**Author's Note:**

> Written and drawn for the Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang! Hope you enjoy!

Crowley thumped his head against the door and thought a quick, sarcastic prayer at a God who had never, not once, had his back. “Aziraphale,” he said, trying for patience. “Open this door.”

“Go _away!”_ his husband shrieked. “You can’t see me like this!”

“I’ve seen you every way imaginable,” Crowley said, trying the knob again. “Whatever state you’re in can’t be much worse. Newt! Get this door open!”

“Sorry, Miss Azi,” he heard their housekeeper mumble, and then something heavy was moved away from the door and it swung open to reveal Newt, pale face flushed and pale hair disheveled. Crowley pushed past him into the room as Aziraphale shrieked again and disappeared behind his dressing screen.

Azi’s stockings were in a puddle on the floor, next to his Angela wig and what looked suspiciously like an aspirin tablet. Crowley took these in, put his hands on his hips, and sighed. “Newt,” he said, pitching his voice to carry to the back of the dressing room. “Go tell Gabriel to get ready to play Angela.”

Azi gasped and stepped out from behind the screen, looking murderous. “You wouldn’t.”

“You’ve left me no choice, love,” Crowley said. “If you won’t go on, we’ll have to send Gabriel.”

_“Never.”_

“Newt,” Crowley barked over his shoulder, and Aziraphale threw his hand up imperiously.

“Newt, tell the stage manager I’ll be down in five,” he said, chin held high. “The crowd is expecting me, and I will not let them down.”

 _“Thank_ you,” Crowley said, sweeping a mocking bow. Azi huffed as Newt scurried off to bring the news to Ligur.

Aziraphale settled himself regally in his chair by the vanity and picked up his electric razor, flipping it on and settling it to his collarbone. “You’re shaving your chest _now?”_ Crowley asked, pacing over to stand behind him.

“I didn’t have time to wax,” Azi said.

Crowley sighed and put his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders, massaging them slightly. “What’s all this about, then?” he murmured, watching his husband and star primp himself to go on stage.

Azi patted his powder puff against his cheeks, silent for a moment, before saying softly, “Indifference is the ugliest thing in the world, Crowley.”

“Who’s indifferent?”

“You.” Crowley scoffed and Aziraphale frowned. “You don’t love me anymore, Crowley.”

“Don’t I?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. “That’s convenient. One massive pain out of my ass.”

“Don’t mock me,” Azi snapped. “Pass me my wig.” Crowley scooped it off the floor and handed it to him; he took it in one hand and reached for the spirit gum with the other. “There’s another man in your life,” Aziraphale went on, “and frankly, my dear, I won’t stand this humiliation much longer.”

“Oh, fuck me,” Crowley mumbled under his breath, then, louder, “And who is this other man, then, who could take my eyes from you?”

“I don’t know yet.” Aziraphale stood, shrugging off his dressing gown and picking his stockings up. “But I know he exists. I sense it, Crowley.”

“You sense it.” Crowley couldn’t keep the skepticism out of his tone, and Azi tutted at him, pulling the stockings on. “Well, let me know when you figure it out. I’d love to know who I’m cheating on you with.” He swept Angela’s anklet off the vanity and knelt, taking the stockinged ankle Azi primly held out and clasping it on with a kiss to his shin. “Until then, can we assume I’m as devoted to you as ever, and carry on with the show?”

“I want a post-nup,” Aziraphale said firmly, “and I want one now.”

“I don’t have one _now;_ is next month alright?”

“Always the mocking tone,” Azi said haughtily. “I’ll finish dressing on my own. Send Newt up to help me with the gown, and head off to your little tete-a-tete. Your meal ticket will not let you down tonight, at least.”

Crowley manfully resisted rolling his eyes, settled Aziraphale’s foot safely on the ground, and left the dressing room.

He found Newt in the house kitchen, putting the beers he’d had hidden in the back of the fridge into an ice bucket. “Azi needs you,” Crowley said.

Newt passed him the ice bucket and hesitated. “Are you really cheating on him?” he asked in a whisper, face anguished.

“That’s above your pay grade,” Crowley told him firmly. “Go help her get her gown on.” Newt threw him a betrayed look but left. Crowley toted the bucket out to the pool and settled into one of the recliners with a sigh.

Three minutes later, he heard the front door unlock and a familiar tread paced through the apartment. “Hello?” Adam called. “Anyone home?”

“By the pool,” Crowley called back, standing. Adam appeared after a moment, beaming, and Crowley clapped him in a hug. “God help us, your hair,” Crowley murmured, fingering his son’s curls, now down by his chin, and Adam laughed, dropping his bag.

“Don’t start,” he warned. “Is that beer?”

“I’m stomaching it just for tonight,” Crowley said, passing him one of the bottles and sinking into the recliner again. “And Newt’s with Azi, who’s about to go on stage. We’re alone, although I still don’t understand _why.”_

Adam sighed and dropped into the other recliner. “I have news,” he said, eyes fixed hesitantly on his father’s face, “and I wanted a minute alone to tell _you,_ before Azi finds out and starts screaming.”

“Oh hell,” Crowley said, “who’ve you gotten pregnant?”

“No,” Adam said, laughing and waving his hand, “nothing like that. Well, not _nothing_ like that, but not that.”

“Spit it out, son,” Crowley said tightly, “or _I’ll_ start screaming.”

Adam sighed again, took a fortifying swig of his beer, and said, “I’m getting married.” Crowley lifted his bottle to his mouth and started to chug. “It’s a man; no one’s pregnant. Slow down, Pop, you’ll choke. I knew you’d be upset.”

“And let me tell you why,” Crowley said when he’d managed to swallow all the beer. “You’re what, eighteen?”

“Twenty-one,” Adam said patiently.

“Barely any better. You haven’t known anyone long enough to want to marry them.”

“You knew Azi for half a month before you moved him in,” Adam pointed out, as Crowley had known he would.

“That’s different,” he said. “Azi and I are soulmates, and I still want to kill him half the time. Trust me, kid, you don’t want to dive into marriage at your age. When you’re forty, we’ll talk.”

“We’ll talk now,” Adam said implacably. “I’ve proposed, and Warlock’s accepted. This is happening whether you like it or not.”

“Decidedly _not,”_ Crowley hissed.

“Fine,” Adam said. He took another swig of his beer, set it on the ground, and stood up. “If that’s how you feel, I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Good,” Crowley snapped.

“I’ll send you a postcard from our honeymoon.”

“Don’t bother.”

“See you around, Pop.”

Adam took two steps towards the door before Crowley was out of his recliner, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him into a hug. “You called my bluff,” he said, clapping his son on the back.

Adam hugged back. “It was good, though.”

“Was it?”

“Yeah, I believed you.”

“I’ve still got a little of the old acting talent in me. Sit down,” Crowley said, “stay awhile. Are you hungry?”

“No, I ate on the road.” They settled back into their chairs, Adam’s eyes never leaving Crowley’s face. “Tell me it’s okay, Pop,” he said quietly.

Crowley groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s okay,” he said after a minute, staring at the pool. “Can’t promise Azi won’t drop dead, but it’s okay.” Adam huffed a laugh.

Adam begged exhaustion from the trip before too long, retiring to his room, which gave Crowley a solid half hour to sit and think before the show ended. His son, getting married?

Eventually he heard the applause from downstairs and braced himself. Aziraphale pounded up the stairs, all the post-show grace of a herd of elephants, saw the empty beer bottles on the ground, and hissed, _“I knew it._ Who is he? Who’s your little floozy? How dare you bring him _here,_ while I’m _performing?”_

“Will you stop screaming?” Crowley snapped. “It’s Adam.”

 _That_ took the wind out of Azi’s sails. “Adam?”

“Go check his room if you don’t believe me.”

Azi sighed and slumped against the doorframe. “Heavens,” he murmured, “how you try me, Crowley. You couldn’t have told me earlier?”

“He requested absolute secrecy.” Crowley stood and walked over to his husband, pulling Azi into his arms and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “He’s getting married,” he murmured into Azi’s curly white hair.

“Don’t be silly,” Azi murmured back, arms going around Crowley. Crowley held him as he would a ticking time bomb, and sure enough, Azi stiffened and leaned back. “Married?”

“Married,” Crowley confirmed. “To some creature called _Warlock,_ apparently.”

Azi’s eyes filled with tears. “But he’s just a _baby.”_

“Well, he turned twenty-one at some point, and he’s decided that’s old enough to get married.”

“Twenty-one,” Azi breathed. “Has it really been twenty-one years?”

Crowley lifted Azi’s hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Do me a favor and don’t try and talk him out of it more than you have to?” he asked. “I promised him it was okay.”

“I’ll try to restrain myself in the morning,” Azi said, “although no guarantees.” Crowley kissed him, and he sighed against Crowley’s mouth. “I’m sorry I accused you of cheating,” he murmured, fingers twisted into Crowley’s shirt.

“I don’t take it personally at this point,” Crowley promised. “I know how you get before a show.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Azi sniffed.

Adam slept late the next morning. Aziraphale fluttered in and out of the house, running all the errands he deemed necessary every time the boy was home. Crowley just sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper and waiting.

The boy emerged just as Azi was getting home with armfuls of vegetables. “Wash those, would you?” he said, passing them off to Newt as Adam’s door swung open. “Oh, lamb,” Azi cooed, his eyes filling with tears again. “Welcome home.”

“I see Pop’s had a word with you,” Adam said ruefully, coming forward to kiss Azi’s cheek and let him ruffle his hair.

“I won’t say a thing, I promised your father,” Azi said. Adam turned to dig the orange juice out of the fridge, and Azi blurted out, “But you’re just a baby and if you throw your life away on the first person who turns your head, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

Adam sighed, swigging from the bottle and then taking the glass Newt shoved at him. “Feel better?” he asked. Azi nodded, shamefaced. “I’ll tell you what I told Pop,” Adam said, pouring juice into the glass. “I’m just following in your guys’ footprints.”

“Oh, don’t take us for an example,” Azi said, clearly flattered at the idea. “Your father and I are an exceptional case.”

“Mhm,” Adam grunted with his mouth full of juice. Swallowing, he said, “I’m gonna go call Warlock, let him know you two are on board.” He stumbled out of the kitchen in the direction of the phone in the living room.

 _“Married,”_ Newt said, voice hushed in awe. “Hard to believe.”

Azi burst into tears. “Our baby’s all grown up,” he sobbed, collapsing onto Crowley’s shoulder, “and we won’t have any others.”

“Not without a miracle,” Crowley said placidly, turning the page in his newspaper.

When Adam appeared again, he’d showered and pulled on actual clothes, and was looking more serious than Crowley had perhaps ever seen him. “Pop,” he said, sticking his head into the workroom. “Can you get Azi and meet me in the living room? There’s been a development.”

“A development?” Crowley asked, looking up from the piano where he’d been working out Azi’s next showstopper piece. Adam just looked meaningfully at him and backed out of the doorway. Cursing the fact that his son had clearly inherited his sense of the dramatic, Crowley made a few last notes on the sheet music, then stood and hollered for his husband.

Adam got the two of them settled on the couch, then dropped into the chair opposite them, rubbing his hands over his knees. “What’s the matter, lamb?” Azi asked with great concern. His hand wormed its way into Crowley’s, locking their fingers together.

Adam took a deep breath. “There’s something I haven’t told you about Warlock,” he said, his face wretched. “His last name is... Well, his name’s Warlock Dowling. He’s Senator Dowling’s son.”

Crowley heard Newt gasp from somewhere behind them, and then scurry away when Azi looked sharply at him. “Who?” Crowley asked.

“Shit, Pop, don’t you ever read the newspaper?”

“Sure,” Crowley said. “Variety, the Arts and Leisure section of the New York Times...”

“Shit, Pop,” Adam said again, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“You’re not marrying some Nazi, are you?” Crowley asked sharply. Azi sucked in a deep breath of his own.

“No,” Adam said quickly, “not like that. He’s just, you know, conservative. Warlock’s _nothing_ like him.”

“Then what’s it matter who his father is?”

Adam groaned, rubbing his temples. “They’re insisting on meeting my family before they give their blessing,” he said quietly.

“Oh, that’s fine, lamb,” Azi said reassuringly. “We want to meet them too, after all. They’ll be family.”

“That’s not all.” When Adam looked back up, he looked terrified. “Warlock panicked,” he said. “He told them Pop is a diplomat and that I have a _mother,_ who’s a housewife.”

The silence was _ringing._ Crowley chanced a look at Aziraphale’s face, and immediately wished he hadn’t. “I see,” Azi said tightly. “Well, he’ll just have to tell them he was mistaken, won’t he?”

“He can’t,” Adam said miserably. “They won’t give their blessing; they won’t let him marry me at all. It’s bad enough their son is gay, but if he marries into a whole gay _family,_ who own a _drag club,_ that’ll be too much for his father’s reputation.”

“Son,” Crowley said, his voice coming out much more serious than it had been, “if this _Warlock_ is someone who won’t get married without his parents’ permission, then maybe he’s not ready to get married at all.”

“It’d just be for one night,” Adam said. “We can tell them the truth at the actual wedding; they won’t make a scene in public. We can tell them my mother’s out of town for a bit.”

“And who will we tell them Azi is?” Crowley asked sharply. “An uncle?”

Adam hesitated, then, slowly, said, “I was thinking, maybe Azi could go out of town for a little while."

 _“No,”_ Crowley snapped, at the same moment Aziraphale let out a little sob and fled the couch, rushing from the room with his hand over his face. “Oh, well done,” Crowley said sarcastically, standing and following after his husband. “Azi!” he shouted, making for the dressing room where the man had locked himself. “He didn’t mean it!”

Aziraphale resisted all attempts to remove him from the dressing room over the next hour, and eventually Crowley gave up, stalking back to the living room where his son was still sitting in the chair, head in his hands. “I can’t believe you did that,” Crowley said, his voice quiet with anger. “Do you have any idea how much Azi adores you?”

“I’m sorry,” Adam said wretchedly, pulling at his hair. “I love him too, you _know_ I do, and Warlock doesn’t care at all that I have two dads. It’s just his _parents...”_

“I don’t give a damn about his parents,” Crowley bit out. “I’m not hiding who I am for the sake of some far-right bastard, no matter how much you want to marry his son.”

“I want to marry him, Pop,” Adam said quietly. “I want to marry him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my whole life.”

Crowley let out a long breath, flopping onto the couch. “Newt!” he shouted. Newt appeared in moments. “Bring us alcohol,” he said. “Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol.”

“Yes, sir,” Newt said, and disappeared again.

Crowley had only allowed the two bottles of beer from last night into his home, but Adam seized on the bottle of white wine Newt offered him like a life raft, unscrewing the top and chugging like he had the orange juice. Newt passed Crowley his favorite whiskey and a glass, and took a bottle of gin for himself. “I can’t believe you did that,” the housekeeper murmured, taking a swig.

Adam groaned into his hands. “You take him for granted,” Crowley said. “Or you’re more homophobic than I realized.”

“Oh, like you’re any better?” Adam snapped, running a hand through his hair. “I grew up listening to you two snipe at each other _constantly._ It’s a wonder I even want to get married at all, after watching you two play at it all my life.”

“We don’t _play_ at marriage,” Crowley said, more than a little hurt. “Marriage isn’t something you _play_ at, boy. Our relationship is our relationship, it’s who we are, and you’re asking me to hurt him to help you.”

“I’m your _son,”_ Adam murmured, pathetic and already drunk.

“You’re my son,” Crowley agreed heavily. “And I thought I raised you better than this.”

They lapsed into silence, swigging from their bottles periodically. Crowley was on the verge of making a pointed comment to Newt about earning his keep when he heard a familiar set of creaky hinges from the other room. Aziraphale appeared after another moment, face pale and scrubbed of makeup, wrapped in his dowdiest bathrobe. His eyes were red and swollen, and the hand clutching his robe together was white-knuckled.

The three drunk men stared at him for a few moments, until he took a deep breath, raised his chin, and looked Adam in the eye, saying, “We’ll need Anathema.” Newt, predictably, startled, slopping gin onto his shirt.

“Anathema?” Adam echoed. “Pop’s cousin?”

Azi nodded. “We need a woman to play the mother, after all, and she’s family.”

“She’s a little young for the part,” Newt pointed out, his cheeks flushed red. Whether it was from the alcohol or thinking of Anathema, Crowley didn’t know and didn’t care to find out. “She would have been, what, fifteen when Adam was born?”

“If these _Dowlings_ are as conservative as Adam says, that’ll probably be a selling point,” Crowley muttered.

“Wait, wait,” Adam said, waving his hands and peering through inebriated eyes at Aziraphale. “Does this mean you’ll do it?”

“If by _do it_ you mean play it straight for one evening, then, yes,” Azi said, lifting his chin higher even as his knuckles went a little more white. “I would have done this and worse for the chance to marry your father. I won’t stand in your way now.”

Adam dropped the (thankfully empty) wine bottle and threw himself at Azi, collapsing at his feet with his arms around his knees. “Thank you,” he said into the fabric of the man’s robe, _“thank you.”_

“I haven’t agreed yet,” Crowley rumbled.

Azi put his hand on Adam’s head, rubbing gently through his hair. “No, but you will,” he said softly.

Crowley looked him in the eye for a long, long minute, grinding his teeth. Azi gave him a smile, his softest and most beautiful, and Crowley had never been able to resist that smile. “Alright,” he said. “Adam, this is your show. What’s first?”

“Sobering up,” Adam said, getting shakily to his feet with Azi’s help. “Then we need to redecorate, and you need to call your cousin.”

Crowley rubbed a hand over his face and stood. “Newt, get us food. Azi, summon the queens.”

He called Anathema from the phone in his study. She answered on the fifth ring. “Anthony J. Crowley, as I live and breathe,” she said. “Haven’t heard from you in a dog’s age.”

“Sorry,” Crowley said, swaying slightly. “‘M awful. Terrible cousin.”

“Are you _drunk?”_

“You will understand why in a minute. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

She hummed. “No plans, which means probably a spaghetti dinner and a jigsaw puzzle. Why?”

“How would you feel about coming over and pretending to be my wife for a pair of far-right political and social conservatives?”

She was silent for a long stretch. “Explain,” she said finally.

“My son is getting married,” Crowley said, ignoring the pang that went through his chest at the words. “To the son of someone called Senator Dowling.”

“Fuck,” Anathema said softly.

“Mhm, so I’m led to believe,” Crowley said. “The boy panicked and told his parents I have a _wife,_ and while I know many queens, I’m short on actual cis women.”

“So you called me.”

“Will you do it?” Crowley asked. “Recompense of your choice.”

Anathema sighed. “How badly does Adam want to marry this boy?”

“Badly enough that Azi’s agreed to this shithole plan,” Crowley said bluntly. “You were his idea.”

Crowley could hear her suck on her teeth. “Will Newt be there?”

“We’ll probably have to shove him in some sort of uniform,” Crowley said.

“Cover my incense budget for three months and make sure you order in food and don’t let Newt actually cook anything, and I’m in,” she said. “I’ve had that man’s cooking and I won’t stomach it, not even for Adam.”

“You’re a saint,” Crowley said. “Make it six months. The club’s doing well.”

“The Dowlings, huh?” Anathema said. “I’ll have to go clothes shopping. I doubt they’ll appreciate my wardrobe as it stands.”

“Keep the receipts,” Crowley said. “Be here tomorrow at six thirty?”

“God willing and the bridge don’t rise,” she agreed, and they hung up.

Crowley sobered up considerably with a stomach full of Indian food and Azi’s hand in his under the table. The queens arrived as Newt was packing the leftovers away. Adam took over from there; Crowley heard him explaining the situation as he and Azi made their way into Azi’s dressing room. “We have to make _this place_ look straight?” he heard Be’el ask. _“How?”_

Crowley shut the door to the dressing room behind him and turned to face his husband. Azi was seated at his vanity, applying concealer under his eyes. “Are you really okay with this?” Crowley asked, pacing across the room to stand behind him and meet his eye in the mirror.

Azi sighed. “He’s our son, Crowley,” he said softly, dabbing at his face with the cotton ball. “I don’t like it, but I can get through it. For him.”

“He’s _ours,”_ Crowley repeated, putting his hands on Azi’s shoulders. Azi put the makeup down and reached up to grasp one hand. “No matter who plays his mother, no matter what the Dowlings think, he’s as much your son as he is mine, and I swear he adores you.”

“I know,” Azi said with a small smile, patting Crowley’s hand. “I do know, love, but it’s nice to hear you say it.”

“I’ll make _him_ say it once this is over,” Crowley growled. He pressed a kiss to the top of Azi’s head and sighed, breathing in the familiar scent of his hairspray and perfume.

“Don’t get yourself too worked up,” Azi said mildly. “You and I have work to do.” Crowley met his eyes again. “This is a scene, just like any other,” Azi said. “You’re the director, so direct me. We need to build the character of Adam’s straight uncle. There’s very little time to rehearse, but I’ve done more with less.”

“Right,” Crowley said, stepping back and clapping his hands together. “Right. To work.”

To Crowley’s surprise, Aziraphale actually had a proper three-piece suit in the back of his closet, and it still fit him, dusty and old-fashioned as it was. Crowley built the character around the suit. “You’re old money,” he said as Aziraphale fiddled with an ancient pair of cufflinks. “Dignified, but not too high-and-mighty. We can’t risk the Dowlings thinking you’re looking down on them. You’re not actually related to me or Anathema by blood, but your family is old friends with Anathema’s family. With me so far?”

“Rich, conservative, salt-of-the-earth,” Azi said. He put his arms by his side and settled into a stance. “How’s this?”

“Straighter shoulders. Use your core.” Azi adjusted. “Better. Now walk for me.”

Crowley coached Azi through the physical mannerisms as best he could for the next few hours, until he was moving fluidly through the motions. They ended for the day with a handshake. “Straighten your hand, tighten your wrist,” Crowley said. “No, straighten, _then_ tighten. Good.”

Azi beamed at him. “It’s very exciting, isn’t it?” he said, dropping character and clasping Crowley’s hand with both of his. “I’ve never played straight before.”

“You’re doing wonderfully,” Crowley said. “We’ll go out for a practice meal tomorrow, get the food work down. Try to keep the physical work going the rest of the day. It needs to feel lived-in.”

“What about my personality?” Azi asked, turning so Crowley could help him out of the suit jacket. “Who am I? What do I believe in?”

Crowley frowned. “This might be an area to call on your improv work,” he mused. “Play off the Dowlings. Whatever they believe, you believe.”

Azi shuddered dramatically, stepping behind his screen to doff the rest of his suit. “Disgusting. But it’ll be good practice, I suppose. You haven’t let me improvise in so long.”

“I let you improvise,” Crowley retorted.

 _“Not_ true.”

“Well, I _will_ let you improvise, then,” Crowley said. “I didn’t know you missed it. We’ll work something out.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Hurry off now, love, and let me get myself together again.”

When Crowley left the dressing room, it was to a much-reduced apartment. Nearly all the art was off the walls, and most of the statues were gone. “Where have you taken everything?” he asked Ligur, walking by with a fertility god idol.

“The antiques shop across the street is letting us store it in exchange for free admission to the shows this month,” Ligur told him. “The youngster said you’d be good for it.”

“Oh, fine,” Crowley said. “Just make sure they don’t sell anything by accident.”

“Oh, it won’t be by accident,” Ligur said cheerfully, all but skipping out of the apartment.

Crowley found Adam in the kitchen, talking menu with Newt. “How’d it go?” he asked, straightening with a worried look.

“I think he can pull it off,” Crowley said honestly. “We’ve done a lot of work today, and we’ll keep rehearsing tomorrow.”

“Great, great,” Adam said. “And you?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “What about me?”

Adam frowned. “Pop...”

“Relax, son,” Crowley said. “I’ve been playing straight when it counts for longer than you’ve been alive.”

“Pop, we can’t leave anything to chance,” Adam said.

“I’m the director,” Crowley said firmly. “It’ll be fine. What are you thinking for food for these people?”

“Apparently the Senator is a very traditional, meat-and-potatoes kind of man,” Newt said, “so I was just about to call Tadfield’s down the block for catering.”

“Just remember to hide the packaging,” Crowley said. “They need to think Anathema cooked it. And Tadfield’s always runs late, so tell them we need it at five instead of six.”

The rest of the day passed in a frenzy of preparations. By the time they went to bed, the apartment had been transformed into a pale shadow of its former self, the only hint of character in the place the giant crucifix Hastur had obtained from somewhere or other. “I don’t think I can sleep with that thing in the house,” Crowley muttered in bed, arms wrapped around Azi.

“Mmm, just imagine crucifying Senator Dowling on it,” Azi mumbled sleepily.

“Or myself,” Crowley said darkly, but Azi was already asleep and didn’t react.

He did sleep, in the end, a few fitful hours, and after three cups of coffee he was more or less functional in the morning. Azi stumbled into the kitchen an hour later, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, his hair at all ends. “Get into character,” Crowley said. “We’re going to practice eating.”

“Oh, alright,” Azi said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Just let me wake up a moment first.”

Crowley fried them some eggs and sausage while his husband sipped from his mug, and they settled at the kitchen table. “Pick up your knife and fork,” Crowley instructed. Azi did so. “Pinky down.” Azi’s pinky curled around the knife with the rest of his fingers. “Good. Now cut the sausage. No, don’t saw at it, _cut_ it. Firm, decided movements, like this.” He demonstrated on his own. “Now you try.”

They worked until the food was almost cold, but Azi eventually got the hang of it. Wrists firm, strong movements, pinky _down,_ no dabbing at his lips with the napkin, _wipe_ the food away. “Good,” Crowley said finally. “Looking very good.”

“Not good enough,” came a voice from the doorway. Crowley sighed and looked at his son, who was lounging on the threshold with his arms crossed. “It’s no use, Pop,” he said, voice defeated. “He’s going to be my gay uncle Azi.”

“You’re only saying that because you know him,” Crowley snapped. “To a stranger it’ll be unnoticeable.”

“And you!” Adam said, coming into the room and pointing at him. “You’re no better; you look besotted every time you look at him.”

“I told you, I can play it straight,” Crowley said tightly, but Adam cut him off.

“So do it,” he said. “Look at Azi like you’re not in love with him.”

Crowley shot Azi a rueful glance. His husband visibly braced himself, and Crowley arranged his features into what he hoped was a neutral, not-in-love expression.

“Hopeless,” Adam said. “They’re going to know something’s up as soon as they see the two of you together.”

“You’re acting like loving my husband is a bad thing,” Crowley said, starting to get properly angry.

“Well, for tonight, it is,” Adam snapped. “I wish you didn’t.”

Azi stood up abruptly, his chair screeching back across the kitchen tile. “Enough,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion. “I will do a great deal for you, Adam, but I will not— You have crossed a line, and I will not stand for it.” Adam looked abashed, and opened his mouth to say something, but Azi bulldozed through it. “I have no wish to embarrass you in front of the man you love. It seems the only way I can refrain from embarrassing you is to remove myself entirely. So that is what I will do. With all my heart, I wish you the best, but I think I will not see you again on this visit. Hopefully you find some excuse with which to invite me to the wedding.” With that, he left the kitchen, a picture of agonized dignity. Crowley heard the door to his dressing room slam shut.

“Well done,” he said.

Adam dropped into the chair Azi had vacated. “It’s for the best,” he said, picking up one of the sausage slices. “We’ll tell the Dowlings the truth at the actual wedding. Azi’ll have forgiven me by then.”

“I don’t know about that, son,” Crowley said quietly. “You may have to work for it this time.”

Aziraphale didn’t emerge all the rest of the morning and afternoon. Crowley for the most part let him be, his finely-tuned radar for his husband’s moods telling him that this was one Azi had to work through on his own. He left a plate of lunch outside the dressing room door, and an hour later found it picked clean, which was reassuring.

Adam tried to speak to him a few times, but subsided when Crowley just shook his head, and went to go hover over where the tailor was fitting Newt’s uniform pants.

Five thirty rolled around, and the food arrived from Tadfield’s, hot plates and insulated containers and a delicious, if heavy, smell. Newt stashed it in the kitchen, and Crowley went to dress.

“Where’s Anathema?” Adam murmured to him at six forty-five, smoothing his tie down nervously.

“I’m sure she’s on her way,” Crowley said. “Just running late. Traffic must be hell.”

“Why hasn’t she called?”

Crowley shrugged. “She has a mobile but she doesn’t believe in using it unless she absolutely has to. Something about cell towers interfering with leylines.”

“Fuck,” Adam muttered, “who’ve you brought to play my mother?”

“It’s _fine,”_ Crowley snapped, not in the mood. “She can play normal when she needs to. If she couldn’t, Newt wouldn’t be in love with her.”

“Hey!” Newt was blushing when Crowley looked over at him. “I’m not in _love_ with her. I just, you know. Admire her. She’s very impressive.”

“Mhm,” Crowley drawled. Adam snickered, slightly hysterical.

The Dowlings arrived precisely at seven, three firm knocks on the door heralding their approach. Newt let them in and Crowley and Adam met them in the sitting room.

Thaddeus Dowling was a big, imposing man, and Harriet looked like she could eviscerate a man without breaking a nail, but it was the boy Crowley looked to first. He was a pale, sallow thing, hovering half a step behind his parents, but when he saw Adam he lit up, and that went a long way with Crowley, even as hacked off at his son as he was. “Welcome to our home,” Crowley said, shaking hands with the senator.

“Thank you for having us,” Harriet said. “We’re so excited to meet the family our Warlock wants to marry into.”

She meant it, Crowley decided, taking her hand and kissing it. She might have a black hole where her heart should be, as all conservatives did, but she loved her son.

“My wife’s running a little late,” Crowley said, “but hopefully she won’t be too much longer. Can I get anyone a drink while we wait?”

“I’ll have a whiskey,” Thaddeus boomed.

“A Scotch, if you have any,” from Harriet.

“Just a coffee for me,” Warlock said.

“I’ll get the coffee,” Adam volunteered. “Come on, Warlock, I’ll show you the kitchen.”

The two boys disappeared through the doorway as Crowley poured the drinks. “I remember being that age,” Thaddeus said, fond enough to surprise Crowley. “I would have done anything for a moment alone with Harriet.” She patted him on the arm, smiling.

“Well, we’ll indulge them,” Crowley said, passing him a glass. “Our housekeeper’s in the kitchen, so they can’t get up to too much trouble.”

“I noticed you have a male housekeeper,” Thaddeus said, sipping at Crowley’s best whiskey like it was water. “That’s unusual.”

“Is it?” Crowley said airily, pouring himself a whiskey too and having to fight the urge to swallow half of it in one go. “Newt’s been with us for years. He’s practically part of the family.”

“That’s nice,” Harriet said. “It’s so hard to find good staff; you have to hold onto them when you do find them.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” Crowley toasted her and she raised her glass back to him.

“Warlock says you’re a cultural something-or-other,” Thaddeus said. Crowley fancied his eyes were suspicious as he gazed at him over his glass. “Greece, he says.”

“Semi-retired now,” Crowley invented, settling back into his character as easily as he settled back onto the sofa. “We’re only in Greece when they’re short-handed.”

“I see.”

“And how long have you lived here?” Harriet asked. “It’s a very... diverse neighborhood, Soho.”

 _Here we go._ “Noticed the nightclub downstairs, did you?” Crowley asked.

She tittered. “Well, yes.”

“That’s what happens when you make the mistake of not buying the whole building when you move in,” Crowley said. “You know how it is. Early career, funds weren’t what they are now, you think, it’ll probably be fine, and next thing you know you’re living above a roaring nightclub.”

“Never considered moving?” Thaddeus asked.

Crowley shrugged. “Wife loves the apartment, so what can you do?” Only barely a lie; Aziraphale did adore the place, as did Crowley.

“What the wife wants, the wife gets,” Thaddeus said, laughing loudly. Harriet rolled her eyes, smiling conspiratorially at Crowley. Crowley took another sip of whiskey to mask his nausea.

The boys returned at that point, clutching cups of coffee. “Everything alright in the kitchen?” Crowley asked.

“Newt’s cooking up a storm,” Adam lied, settling onto the sofa next to him. “Smells amazing.”

“What’s on the menu?” Thaddeus asked. “Warlock didn’t say.”

“Meat and potatoes!” Crowley said, toasting him. “Good traditional American fare here for our guests.”

“Amen,” Thaddeus said, toasting him back.

Crowley checked his watch. Seven thirty. “Where could the wife be?” he murmured.

Just as he said it, the phone rang. Crowley heard it in the dressing room first, as he always did. “That must be her,” Adam said, standing. “I’ll get it.” He made for the phone in the corner, but before he could pick it up, it stopped ringing. “Oh.”

“Probably a spam caller,” Warlock said. “We get them all the time at home.”

“Probably,” Adam said, smiling at him and settling back down.

“Well, we’ll give your mum another twenty minutes, and then we’ll start without her,” Crowley said, patting Adam’s knee. “Traffic through central London can be a nightmare this time of evening.”

“Too true,” Harriet said.

The silence that follows had the hint of awkwardness in it, so Crowley said, “So how did you boys meet?” Warlock grinned, transforming his face, and Adam launched into the story.

Just as Adam was about to tell them about their first kiss, Crowley heard the front door open and a voice trilled out, “I am _so sorry_ to be so late; traffic was just _horrendous.”_

But it wasn’t Anathema’s voice, and Crowley shared a single, stunned glance with Adam before a figure bustled into the room and he had to stand to greet his _wife._

__

Aziraphale was wearing one of his older wigs, styled for his old stage character, who was a dowdy housewife. He was wearing her clothes, too, a light pink pantsuit with extreme padding at the chest and hips. A matching purse dangled from his elbow, and, the detail that made Crowley start to grin like a mad thing, his nails had been painted the same shade of pink. “Terribly sorry,” Azi said again, reaching out to take Thaddeus Dowling’s hand in both of his. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”

Crowley looked at Adam again; the boy was gaping, clearly taken aback. “Not too long, darling,” Crowley said, coming forward and kissing him on the cheek to hide his own smile. “This is Thaddeus Dowling, and his wife Harriet, and their son Warlock.”

“Oh, bless,” Azi cooed, shaking Harriet’s hand and then turning to Warlock. “Come and give me a hug, dear boy.” Warlock looked as stunned as Adam, and didn’t move, eyes flicking from Azi to his fiancé. “Oh, sweet thing, he’s shy,” Azi murmured fondly, taking Crowley’s hand. “Well, he’ll warm up. We’re all family here, or we will be, isn’t that right, darling?”

“Quite right,” Crowley said, squeezing his hand..

“I was just visiting my parents in Oxfordshire,” Azi said, “and they’re just thrilled about the wedding too. They send their congratulations, sweetheart,” he added to Adam.

“Oxfordshire?” Thaddeus said sharply. “Your husband said you were in central London.”

“What?” Azi looked at Crowley, who was trying desperately to communicate through just his eyes. “Well, yes, I was in Oxfordshire, but I came back _through_ central London.”

“Why?” Harriet asked, laughing. “I’d avoid it at all costs if I could.”

“Well,” Azi hedged, biting his lip. Crowley saw inspiration strike in his eyes, and he said, “Well, my parents _used_ to live in central London, but it grew too much for them as they got older, and they were forced to retire to the country. But they still miss it, and they absolutely _insist_ I go through their old neighborhood every time I visit so I can tell them about it. And when I got in the car to come home, I just reversed the GPS trip, and didn’t realize my mistake until I was in the thick of it, as it were.” He tittered, and Crowley couldn’t help but laugh too. On the sofa, Adam was starting to relax, amusement smoothing the lines by his eyes.

“I think I would like a hug, Mrs. Crowley,” Warlock said, biting his lip against a smile of his own.

“Oh, bless you, come here,” Azi said, wrapping the boy in his arms. “There, you see? We’re all friends here.”

“Well, I don’t know about all of you, but I’m starving,” Crowley said (quite honestly; he hadn’t been able to stomach much lunch for nerves). “Shall we head in for dinner? Adam, will you go tell Newt we’re ready?” Adam nodded and made for the kitchen, and Crowley led the Dowlings into the dining room.

Azi took over once they were there, directing people into seats. “Anthony at the head of the table—he _insists,_ you know—and we’ll put Adam next to his father, and Warlock next to him, so the boys can be together, and then the Dowlings on my right, just here and here.” Everyone settled into their chairs, and Adam came back and dropped into the seat next to Warlock, smiling at him.

Newt followed him with a platter of food, and then another, and everyone tucked in. Crowley was just starting to think that maybe they could get through this evening without any bloodshed when Aziraphale washed down a bite of mashed potatoes with a swallow of water and said, “Senator Dowling, I must say, I read the transcript of your speech last week, and I was just completely blown away.”

Adam’s eyes snapped to Crowley, who shook his head slightly. Let Azi play this out; Crowley was inclined to trust him. “Why, thank you, Mrs. Crowley,” Thaddeus said, sounding pleased. “I didn’t know you followed American politics.”

“Oh, quite closely,” Azi said primly, which nearly made Crowley choke on his steak, as he wasn’t sure Azi could even name who was president across the pond. “I couldn’t agree more with your stance on socialized medicine.”

“Oh no?” Harriet asked, knife and fork perched over her plate. “Most Brits I’ve met are quite proud of their National Health.”

“Oh, well it’s fine for _us,”_ Azi said, cutting off his next bite. “Everyone knows your standard Englishman couldn’t get by without the government holding his hand through everything. But you _Americans_ are so different, so independent. I quite admire you.”

“Well said,'' Thaddeus boomed. “Nothing against you lot, but the American way is personal responsibility and good honest hard work.”

“Hear hear,” Warlock muttered. If his father picked up on the sarcasm in his tone, he didn’t let on.

“If someone has the poor sense to get himself ill or injured, well, I don’t see why he should get out of paying for it,” Thaddeus said. “We all have to, in America, the rich as well as the poor.”

“True equality,” Crowley put in. Azi’s eyes flicked to him, bright with amusement and affection.

“I mean, just imagine if everyone had equal access to health care,” Azi said, gesturing expansively with his water glass. “If everyone was in good health and could work, why, unemployment would be through the roof! There aren’t enough jobs in the _galaxy,_ if everyone of working age were actually able to work.”

Adam started coughing, a burst of noise and flailing as he reached for his own glass and Warlock pounded him on the back. “You know, I’ve never thought of it like that,” Thaddeus said thoughtfully. “The world needs the sick as well as the healthy, the poor as well as the rich.”

“All in equal balance,” Azi said. “That’s what I always say.”

“Not to mention the strain it would put on doctors and nurses, to have their patient load increase like that,” Crowley said. Adam threw him a look; Crowley winked at him.

“Quite right,” Harriet said. “We’d have to start giving _incentives_ for going into the medical field, and that’s just a step closer to full communism, isn’t it?”

“Oh, a nightmare,” Crowley agreed.

Across the table, Azi put his hand over Thaddeus’s. “It’s so _nice_ to meet people who see the world in the same way we do,” he said meaningfully, gazing into the Senator’s eyes. “So refreshing.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Thaddeus said warmly. As Crowley watched, Harriet’s eyes flicked from Azi’s face, to their combined hands on the table, to her husband’s face, and her lips pursed. Crowley hid his grin in another mouthful of potatoes.

Thaddeus Dowling was a big man, and went back for thirds, which necessitated someone going into the kitchen to see if there was any more food. Crowley volunteered, and when he came back bearing a bowl of green beans, it was just in time to hear his husband titter and say, “Well, of _course_ we voted Leave, and we meant it, too, unlike all those silly protest voters. Why on earth _should_ we want to stay in the European Union?”

Adam looked at Crowley, equal parts panic and laughter in his face. Crowley winked at him again, set the bowl on the table, and sat back down to watch the show.

“Couldn’t agree more,” Thaddeus boomed, “couldn’t agree more. The European Union is a travesty of an organization, and frankly, I’m just delighted America was never asked to join.”

“Oh, the European Union couldn’t handle _America,_ and America shouldn’t want in even if you were invited,” Azi said smoothly. “Frankly, I consider Brexit to be us following in America’s fine footsteps. It’s basically another American Revolution.”

There were stars in Thaddeus’s eyes, and Harriet looked like she was sucking on a lemon instead of Crowley’s best Scotch. Warlock and Adam kept shooting each other delighted, adoring looks, and Crowley could barely look away from Aziraphale at all. His husband was in his _element._

They retired to the sitting room again for coffee, and Thaddeus told the story of his and Harriet’s courtship, which thawed her a little bit. “What about you two?” she said, leaning over her crossed legs.

Crowley opened his mouth, but before he could get a word out, Aziraphale said, “Sainsbury’s.”

Harriet blinked. “You met in a grocery store?”

“Oh, yes,” Azi said, looping his arm through Crowley’s and looking at him adoringly. “I was picking up a few things, and _this one_ was still living the bachelor lifestyle and shopping for himself, poor lamb. He didn’t know the difference between baby spinach and rocket and I had to step in, and, well, it was love at first sight.”

Adam buried his face in his coffee, no doubt thinking, as Crowley was, of the _real_ way he and Azi had met: Azi had come to the club for an audition, but upon seeing Crowley had thrown his piano accompaniment sheets on the floor and started flirting so outrageously, and so in character, that Crowley had had no choice but to hire him, and to move him into the apartment two weeks later.

“Still don’t know the difference,” Crowley said in a confessional tone of voice. Azi cooed and kissed his cheek. “So,” Crowley went on, clapping his hands. “What do we think about these kids getting married, eh?”

Warlock blushed and Adam rolled his eyes. “I think it’s sweet,” Harriet said. “We were a little nervous when Warlock came home and told us he was engaged, and to an Englishman no less, but Adam seems like a lovely boy.”

“And we couldn’t ask for better in-laws for him,” Thaddeus said, gazing at Azi, who dimpled at him. “Warlock’s always wanted a bigger family, and he’s found some good people for it at last.”

“Oh, so did Adam,” Azi said, “but, alas, the body did not allow for it.” Crowley buried his face in Azi’s hair in what he hoped looked like a reassuring gesture and was instead an attempt to hide a laugh.

“PCOS?” Harriet asked sympathetically. “It can wreak havoc on the ovaries, and the metabolism.” Her eyes flicked over Azi from head to toe, assessing him.

“Something like that,” Azi agreed smoothly. “More coffee?”

“Oh, no thank you,” Harriet said quickly, before Thaddeus could open his mouth. “Our hotel’s quite a ways away, and it’s getting late.” She stood, brushing down her skirt, and after a moment her husband stood as well. “Thank you so much for having us over; it was a pleasure meeting all three of you.”

Crowley and Azi stood too. “Adam, go have Newt bring the Dowlings’ coats,” Crowley said. Adam nodded and ran off, and Crowley shook hands with the Dowlings again. “I can’t remember a more enjoyable night,” Crowley said honestly. Next to him, Azi extended his hand to Thaddeus, who picked it up and kissed it.

Once the Dowlings were packed off, Crowley collapsed onto the sofa, dragging Azi down with him. Adam fell into a chair, loosening his tie. “Well,” Crowley murmured. “We did it.”

“You were _amazing,_ Azi,” Adam said breathlessly. “Really astounding.”

Azi blushed. “Well, thank you, lamb. I’m just glad you didn’t mind.”

“It was genius,” Adam said. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of it to begin with.”

“Was that Anathema on the phone earlier?” Crowley asked Aziraphale.

Azi nodded. “Said she was still in traffic and would be another hour at the earliest. I told her to grab a drink at the coffee shop down the block when she got here and I’d handle it, and we’d feed her once the Dowlings were gone.”

Crowley fished his mobile out of his pocket. “I’ll let her know it’s safe to come up.” Message sent, he put his hand on Azi’s thigh and closed his eyes, just for a minute.

Anathema appeared five minutes later, and was let in by a blushing Newt. “Don’t you look smart,” she said, eyeing his uniform and deepening his blush. She looked over at Azi. “Well,” she said. “How’d things go here?”

“Oh, smashingly,” Crowley said. “I’d be surprised if Senator Dowling doesn’t extend a proposal to my _wife_ before the month is out.”

“Oh, hush,” Azi said, scratching under his wig. “It was only a bit of fun.”

Adam, who had been texting with Warlock, looked up from his phone to say, “Apparently the Senator hasn’t stopped talking about my mother the whole ride so far. Harriet’s about to blow.”

Anathema laughed. “I was promised food,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Come with me,” Newt said nervously. “I’ll fix you a plate.”

Adam rubbed a hand over his forehead, sinking back into his chair with a groan. “I’ll talk with Warlock tomorrow about how to break the truth to his family.”

Crowley felt Azi move next to him, a little shift as he tucked one ankle under the other. “I don’t see any need for that.” Crowley looked at him.

Adam looked at him too. “What are you talking about?” the boy asked. “That was the deal. We’d lie for tonight because they gave us no warning, and we’d tell them the truth at the wedding.”

“Having met the man, I can’t imagine Thaddeus Dowling being afraid to cause a scene at a wedding, even his own son’s,” Azi said. “I’m perfectly happy to keep the charade up. It’s not like our families will be socializing after the wedding, after all.”

Adam shook his head. “I can’t ask you to do that. I’ve asked you to do too much already. Azi, I’m really, really sorry—”

Azi held up a hand. “No need, lamb.”

“Let me anyway?” Adam asked, eyes beseeching. Azi considered him, then lowered his hand and nodded. “I’ve said some horrible things to and about you the past few days, Azi, and I’m very, very sorry. I didn’t mean any of them, and I shouldn’t have said them, and I _definitely_ shouldn’t have asked you to hide. I took you for granted, and that was wrong.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Azi said with a small smile. “I appreciate it. But since the deception is already in place...” His lips curled up in a conspiratorial smile. “It _was_ funny, wasn’t it?”

 _“So_ funny,” Adam said, grinning. “I could barely keep it together when you said you voted Leave.”

“And it was _fun,”_ Azi said, looking over at Crowley. “I’ve always loved performing, and...” His voice trailed off.

“And?” Crowley prompted, already having some idea of what he was going to say.

“And I’ve always loved the way you look at me when I’m performing,” Azi said softly, reaching up to touch Crowley’s chin with his forefinger and thumb. “It’s different to how you look at me every other time, and I relish it.”

Crowley caught his hand and kissed the fingers. “Well, who am I to deny you?” He turned to their son. “Adam? What do you say?”

Adam grinned again. “Well, if you _want_ to, I don’t mind, and I know Warlock will be down for it as well. He wants to meet the real you, but he thought your act was hilarious.”

“Then it’s settled,” Azi said. “I’ll have to go shopping, of course. Mrs. Crowley needs a mother-of-the-groom dress.”

“I’ll open a new line of credit,” Crowley said drily, and Adam laughed.

Adam and Warlock married three months later, a dual-religious ceremony in a public courthouse in Kentucky. Azi wept like a faucet, and Crowley had to dab at the corners of his own eyes a few times. The reception was held in a large banquet hall across town; Thaddeus swept Azi onto the dance floor no less than three times, which Crowley considered a relief for his poor feet.

Azi settled into his side toward the end of the reception, sighing happily. “What a glorious day,” he murmured, watching the grooms sway in each other’s arms. Then his brow furrowed. “Do you think we should have insisted on a pre-nup before they tied the knot?”

Crowley shook his head. “I’m sure they’ll be fine, love. Speaking of...” He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a folded sheaf of paper. “I was going to do this tomorrow, but since it came up. Take it,” he said, thrusting it at Azi.

Azi took the sheet of paper and unfolded it. “Crowley,” he breathed, scanning over the first page, “what is this?”

“Our post-nup,” Crowley said. “I told you it was in the works.”

“Crowley,” Azi said urgently, “this says I get the _whole club_ if you leave me.”

“Well, if I ever leave you, clearly I won’t be in my right mind, and therefore I won’t be able to run the club,” Crowley said. “So better you have it.”

“Crowley, dearest, I can’t sign this.” Azi flipped through the pages, face distraught. “It gives me the whole club _and_ half of your liquid assets.”

“Oh, who cares?” Crowley said. “It’s our money anyway, not mine. You’re entitled to half of it.”

“And it says that if I leave you, I still get half of your money, although not the club.”

“I know what it says, darling, I dictated it.”

“I don’t want half of your money!”

“Then don’t leave me.”

Azi sighed. “You’re impossible. I don’t have a pen.” Crowley pulled one out of his pocket and Azi sighed even deeper, but scribbled his name in the appropriate spot. Crowley took the pen and the papers and did the same, then folded the sheaf again and stuck it back in his pocket.

“There,” he said. “It’s done.”

Azi’s eyes were filled with tears. “You impossible, ineffable man,” he murmured, leaning in to leave a lipstick mark on his cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Nor I you,” Crowley murmured back. Azi leaned his head against Crowley’s. Crowley interlaced their fingers, and together they turned back to their newly-married son.


End file.
